


All Your Gods Are False

by lazyroughdrafts



Series: Graveyard Whistling [1]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/F, alternative universe, based on the film "John Wick"
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-20
Updated: 2015-05-20
Packaged: 2018-03-31 08:34:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3971185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lazyroughdrafts/pseuds/lazyroughdrafts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She presses the barrel of a gun to his temple and Hades swings the gates open.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sam Groves/

Fusco whistles as his eyes readjust to the dim lighting in order to take in the full scope of the night's carnage. He narrowly avoids losing his balance as he turns quickly to sidestep a pool of blood and viscera. "That was some pretty fancy footwork Lionel." His partner's voice gently teases from across the room.

"That was nothin'. You should see me cut a rug." 

"I'm sure it would blow my mind." Her response is wryly affectionate but pensive. Their easy banter leavened by the grisly scene before them.

 

"Hey Carter, you ever seen anything like this?" He asks rubbing his jaw and half obscuring his mouth. Seasoned Detective though he is, he finds himself growing queasy. From where they are standing Joss is close enough to see the colour draining from his jowls.

His speech speeds up, gruff and breathless, in an attempt to suppress the feeling. "Someone sure has it in for those Russians. First that bust up at The Coronet Hotel. Then the vaults at Holy Trinity and now this? Whoever he is, he's got stones taking on the entire empire on his own. It doesn't make sense. And how is it no one's ever seen this guy? We might as well be chasing a ghost."

 

She nods, lips twisting in disturbed recognition as she kneels to pick up some bloodied zip ties with a gloved hand. "That's because we are. Szymanski found one of Yogorov's men hiding in the basement and bleeding out. Got one word out of him. _Babayaga_."

"Baba Yaga? I thought that was just some myth the Russians used to scare their kids."

"From the body count he's racked up over the last 24 hours, whoever it is, this ghost is very real." Carter examines the zip ties in her hand more closely. Gesturing to their surroundings, "Very real and very angry."

"If this evidence is anything to go by, they should be afraid. I have a feeling our ghost isn't going to stop until it's taken them all to hell."

 

 

_Dockyard West Camera 8_

 

It gets cold pretty fast. She is surprised by the observation and mentally berates herself. It's something she always forgets but then again she's never been this cold, this close. She grasps her side tight with one hand, her shirt stretched, balled up and fisted against her skin while a familiar liquid warmth finds her fingers. It's always heavier than she expects, the weight of it significant somehow. And though she knows better, she can't help but muse it must be the weight of iron that does it.

 

It all ends after a couple swipes of her index finger, until she can't scroll any more and the thin film of blood on her fingertips renders the screen unresponsive. Her finger rests on a photo she doesn't remember taking, didn't take. A smear of blood trails the screen and pools at the edge of a wide relentless smile meeting her stone face unrestrained. Her arms feel so heavy. The smile finds fracture and exposes it as her own lips twitch in response.

 

But it is a grimace that wins out, and not for the bullets still ripping her insides in infinitely slow procession.

 

It is a more recent memory that turns her to stone again. She is stone but the memory is a living thing, a phantom taking on flesh and sitting in her lap.

She'd lit up then, smiling at her too late would-be Saviour as Shaw unleashed a swarm of bullets on Ivan's thugs and shattered Peter's face beyond recognition with the sheer relentlessness of her frenzied assault.

It was only the delight in Root's voice, still audible despite bloodless lips, that ended it. "I knew you'd come for me."  She'd had to swallow hard to down the impatient retort and with it the unfamiliar feel of acid churning in her gut and rising. She didn't know it to recognise it; fear growing tentacled arms inside her and twisting her stomach tightly with icy fingers and reaching higher with burning ones to squeeze her lungs and climb her ribs.

The sweetness in her voice unmuted despite her speech growing breathy and laboured. Shaw could feel those eyes marking her, leaving her skin scorched with traces of an adoring gaze as she rushed to free her from the seat where she'd been tortured for hours. She didn't know the dimmer switch was broken when she cut the zip ties slicing into slim wrists and ankles. She didn't think about what she knew then staring into Root's glimmering eyes.

The memory is a living thing and puts palm to cheek, caresses her cold face.

Shaw wants to slap her. She wants to dig her nails into her upper arms as she shakes her. She's too late to shake sense into her. She's always been too late. "Hang in there okay? Root... Root."

"Anything for you sweetie."

 

The phone slips from her hand and slides down her thigh, landing with a feeble clatter on fissured asphalt. She loses track of her fingers, her hand.

Where is her hand?

 

She leans back against the corrugated metal fence. Leans her head back and closes her eyes before shaking her head hard.

No. No. She mustn't close her eyes.

She fights the fade on pure instinct, but then remembers. Fading to black this time will be a kindness. It's the spectral sound that does it. It's that sweet voice, full and teasing, that brings her back.

_"You came for me..."_

Corrugated metal lumpy against her back, digs into her scapula and spine as she slumps sideways before coming round enough to straighten up. She catches sight of the screen still glowing and reaches for the phone. The weight of it in her hand surprises her. Root's face hallows the surrounding darkness, illuminating Shaw's stained hands and the simple gold band on her finger before everything is swallowed by the thickness of the night. Everything. Even the radiance of that smile fades to pitch. It's only an echo now anyway.


	2. Would you like a souvenir?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The reason for the shit-storm. This narrative is unwinding backwards.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Non-graphic depiction of violence.

_Wednesday 07:00 Lou's Auto Repairs_

_Static. Audio: Screeching tires. Billie Holiday's sultry voice crooning Ain't Misbehavin' can be heard in the background._

 

 

"Oh shit oh shit oh shit. Lou?"

        "What. I'm having a moment."

 

"Would you just get over here."

        "You wanna hold my hand while I'm taking a piss Leon?

 

"I mean it."

        "Have some respect for my prostate will ya."

"Now Lou!"  
         "Alright. _Alright_. It's too early for this. Geez you'd think the world would keep turning for another five minutes-- Ah shit. What is this? What the hell are you doing with this car Peter?"

 

"Got a good deal on it. Just needs new plates and a paint job."

        "I said what the hell are you doing with _this_ car? I know the owner of _this_ car. And it sure as shit ain't up for sale. So you better start talking-- And just what the hell is so funny Laszlo? Wipe that stupid smirk off your face. Or I'll do it for ya."

 

.............

 

_The blue steel glow of an alarm clock bleeds 03:47 into the darkness of a room that is eerily quiet just before it is not._

_A bed. A side table. A near empty bottle of scotch._

_She hasn't been sleeping. It is the first night in almost three weeks that she manages a few consecutive hours. She is laying prone, face buried in her pillow at the far left of the bed. Her right hand is wedged underneath her head, her left arm extended traitorously toward the middle having wandered in its subconscious search for an absent body._

_A bed. A sleeping assassin. A seven month old Belgian Malinois._

_Bear is curled up at her feet. There is a sound. His ears perk up.  She wakes groggily to hear Bear growling. She reaches for her gun. A near empty bottle of scotch crashes against her skull._

_She falls. She gets up. Fists at her ribs. She falls. Feet at her back. Bear is barking. Attacking ankles. There is a kick. There is a thud. Bear is whimpering. He doesn't stop whimpering. There is a crash. A crack. The running of feet. A slamming door. The screeching of tires._

_Bear stops. He is not whimpering. It is quiet.  She crawls to him. Curls next to him. He is quiet. He doesn't make a sound._

_A floor. A broken table. A broken body._

_Two broken bodies._

_Near an empty bed, the blue steel glow of an alarm clock bleeds 04:12 into the darkness of a room that is eerily quiet._

 

.............

_Wednesday 07:10 Lou's Auto Repairs_

 

"Hey. Hey. What's it to you old man? You better watch yourself. Dumb bitch wouldn't sell so I took it off her and taught her a lesson. Shame about the dog though--What the HELL! YOU HIT ME? You're pulling a gun on me? My father will _bury_ you. You dumb fuck."

        "Your father? You better hope _your father_ doesn't put you six feet under for what you've done. Leon, toss me my phone."

 

        "Ivan, it's Lou. You're going to want to sit down for this.

_"What's this about?"_

        "You should know I gave your shit-for-brains son Peter a thrashing."

_"You did what?"_

        "You should also know he's already a dad man. Laszlo too. They broke into Shaw's house. Fucked her up. Killed her dead wife's puppy. All so's they could steal her car-- Ivan. Ivan, you hearing me?"

_"I hear you."  
_

        "You better say goodbye to your sons."

 

        "Now listen up you arrogant waste of space. This is what's gonna happen. You're gonna leave _that_ car here and I'm gonna call Sam Shaw and tell her exactly everything. So get the hell out of my shop before she gets here."

"You can't talk to us like--"

        "I SAID GET THE FUCK OUT. _NOW_. Before I end you myself. And trust me on this, very soon you're gonna wish I'd made good on my offer. Because when she gets her hands on you Peter? You're gonna know. _Really know_ what it means to wish you'd never been born."

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry about Bear. It's in the movie though. I'm really sorry.
> 
> All titles from Graveyard Whistling--Nothing But Thieves
> 
> Thought I'd post this now since I'm never going to be happy with this chapter. Next one won't be up until at least next weekend.


End file.
